


building a burning house

by blawky



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate universe - Mafia, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Slow Burn, alcoholism mentions, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blawky/pseuds/blawky
Summary: In the country of Vale, mafia groups control the government with honeyed words and poisoned blades. Qrow Branwen, operative of the once-legendary Beacon mafia, is sent to infiltrate the ranks of the burgeoning powerhouse known as Atlas. It is here that he meets Clover Ebi, a high-ranking member of Atlas—and a good man.Therein lies the catch.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	building a burning house

**Author's Note:**

> All character ages correspond (roughly) to their Volume 7 ages, meaning that Ruby is seventeen, while WBY are all nineteen. Qrow and Clover are both in their 30s. This piece is set after Qrow's recovery from alcoholism. 
> 
> The title for this work comes from Ocean Vuong's poem, "Home Wrecker": 
> 
> "When our lips touched the day closed  
> into a coffin. In the museum of the heart
> 
> there are two headless people building a burning house."

It had taken Qrow six days to find a contact within the group Ozpin had asked him to infiltrate, and even then, it had been by chance—which always meant bad things, if Qrow was involved. He only chanced upon things through misfortune. Qrow adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, feeling for the blades stashed inside them. There was a gun at his hip, too, but he would be hard-pressed to draw it before things went sour.

If. If they went sour.

Qrow had grown used to preparing for the worst. He survived situations by the skin on his teeth, and never by playing fair. 

A footfall was all the warning he got before a smooth voice cut through the silence of the docks. 

“You must be Jonah.”

“That’s me,” Qrow said simply. He didn’t chance a glance over his shoulder to see the man addressing him, but he knew there was more than one other person accompanying him. Too many to get the jump on. Mentally, he ran through the analysis of the docks he’d done. Two exits on either side of him, several crates to duck behind. He was wearing almost entirely black, which would provide good camouflage in the night, but he would stand out against the white-washed brick.

Not for the first time, Qrow wondered if he would have this same checklist if his semblance hadn’t brought about what it did. Then again, he’d survived this long because of that checklist. Luck had nothing to do with it.

There was a light chuckle. “Are you going to turn around, or should we just keep talking to your back?” 

“Not enjoying the view?”

“Oh, it’s just fine.” Qrow blinked, and swiveled to narrow his eyes at the man. He was used to flirting, obviously, but it was rarer to have it come from men. Rarer still to have it come from men in Atlas—even despite the more-than-rumors circulating about Ironwood. 

The brunet just grinned, winking at Qrow. Bastard. That was _his_ move! 

“You’re shorter than I would have imagined,” the other man asserted, crossing his arms and smirking. Qrow felt his anger well up.

“Piss off,” he hissed. Qrow was too twitchy to work up a suitable retort. 

“Name’s Clover.” 

“And let me guess,” Qrow snorted, “you’re always lucky.” 

“Luckier now.” 

Qrow had the sudden urge to force his semblance to light, to bid forth the bad luck that had become his second skin. 

He grinned back, though it was more akin to a baring of the teeth. “You sure about that?”

Clover laughed, winking again. Qrow forced himself to chuckle. This was already irritating. 

“As sure as I’ve ever been. So, Jonah. Why the interest in our merry little band?” 

Qrow smirked. “What’s not to love? A bit of crime here, a splash of murder there. Regular saints.” 

Despite all their flirting and posturing, there was a point to this rendezvous. And points, Qrow knew, could very easily kill. 

“Didn’t answer my question.” Clover was still grinning, but there was something in those green eyes that belied a danger. A leviathan swimming in the depths; a bird searching for prey. 

“Six mafias in the past year have been apprehended, down to the very last peon.” It was true. Nobody could account for why, but Qrow had theories. Ironwood was one of them. That was half of the reason for his being here. 

The other half was much worse. 

“Atlas, on the other hand, has suffered only from a boom in numbers. At first, I thought it was just dumb luck.” Clover grinned at that, motioning for him to go on. “Now, though, I’ve realized there’s something special about your ‘merry little band’. I want in.”

“Uh-huh. How’d you find us, anyways? We’ve been covering our tracks.”

“Think I’m gonna tell you that before I’m in? Come on. At least _try_ to take me seriously.” 

“Alright, alright. Fair play.” Clover smirked. That seemed to be his perpetual expression. 

It set Qrow’s nerves on fire. Likely with a desire to punch it off.

“So, you were competent enough to find us. What’s your semblance?”

“Don’t have one.” How long had he wished for that? Scars riddled his body, both real and imagined, as proof of the atrocities his semblance had wrought. 

Clover’s eyebrow raised. There was no way the man could sense the lie—his Aura was heavily cloaked, courtesy of Ozpin, and Qrow had done extensive research on all of Ironwood’s heavy-hitters. It was relatively unclear what Clover’s semblance actually _was,_ but it wasn’t lie detection.

That was someone else, someone Qrow hoped he didn’t run into. Atlas and Robyn Hill had been at odds almost since she had first come up in the political scene: she was a severe threat to Atlas’s ironclad grip on Vale politics. 

“That so?” 

Qrow grinned. “What, surprised I made it this far? Not everyone can rely on a semblance, pretty boy.” 

“Guess you lucked out, then, allying yourself with us.”

Gods, if he made one more luck joke, Qrow was going to kill him. Luck was a sham. 

But he was Jonah Egreyn, not Qrow Branwen, so he pulled his lips in the mockery of a smile and laughed like something was funny. 

“I guess we’ll see,” he replied simply, staring at Clover’s two associates. One of them had short, shaven hair, piercing blue eyes staring directly back. The shaven man stood entirely still, ivory skin making him more reminiscent of a statue than a person—a perfect contrast to the dark-skinned man at his side, a canine tail intermittently making itself known with swipes in the air. 

A Faunus. At least Atlas was welcoming to those from all walks of life.

Except his.

“This is Vine,” Clover began, motioning with a thumb towards the tall, neatly shaved man, “and that’s Marrow.” Qrow waved a hand slightly.

“I assume you already know my name.” The words were humorless, but Marrow still chuckled slightly. Nervously, almost. He seemed jumpy, particularly in comparison to the cool dispassion of his svelte compatriot. 

Vine, too, seemed to be taking stock of Qrow. He seemed a man who was particularly adept at such things, erudite and reticent. That would have been an issue, if this wasn’t a practiced routine to Qrow. 

Now, it was just an annoyance. 

“We do.” That was Vine, chilly and dispassionate in timbre. 

Clover grinned, walking towards Qrow. He motioned slightly with his head, as though asking Qrow to follow. The two men flanked the brunet as he walked, their strides replete with deadly confidence. None of them had their Auras up, but Qrow was still cautious. 

One had to be, when misfortune followed in their wake like vultures to a corpse. 

“Signing onto Atlas is no small thing, Jonah. Are you certain you know what you’re getting into?” Clover’s voice had taken on something like concern, almost patronizing. He wanted to inform Clover that he was positive he could take all three of them in a fight with his eyes closed, because he was positive he could, but he didn’t. It had taken him a longer time than he cared to admit to swallow his pride for the sake of subtlety, but he’d gotten the hang of it.

A small, slightly embittered smile was all he offered the taller man as he fell into step beside him. 

“Trust me,” he drawled, “I’m well aware of the risks. I’m not a rookie. Trust me on that.” Marrow stiffened. Qrow almost laughed.

“If you’re sure.” 

“Don’t patronize me, pal.” 

Clover rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay.” He turned to peer at Qrow, head tilting in an almost avian motion. 

“What organization did you work with last, anyways? Background check came up pretty empty. Aside from a parking violation.” 

Of course Glynda gave him a _parking violation._ Asshole. 

“I worked alone.”

“Why’re you here, then?” 

“Got tired of having everyone be against me, I guess. Figured I might try out the whole allies thing.” 

Clover looked Qrow up and down, grinning. “Yeah, that might work.” 

Qrow felt his cheeks grow slightly crimson. He disguised it with a snort, turning his head to the side. Vine’s critical gaze bore holes into his head. 

“So, am I gonna meet your shadowy leader anytime soon?” James Ironwood didn’t deign to grace mere grunts with his presence, but even on paper Jonah Egreyn wasn’t overly grunt material. 

Clover chuckled. “If you can prove you’re worth the boss’s time, sure. For now, you’re stuck with me.” 

Qrow groaned. The dark-skinned man—he was more of a boy, honestly—finally spoke up, eyes warm with an unseen chuckle. “Make sure we don’t waste too much of our time. I _hate_ babysitting.” 

“You look like you might benefit from a babysitter,” Qrow said flatly. 

Marrow turned beet red after a moment’s pause, stamping his foot. His tail had gone shock-straight behind him, eyes full of a raging challenge. Clover held up a hand, not even bothering to hide his chuckle. 

“What Marrow means is that we—I—will be supervising you until you’ve proven yourself a bit more. We’ve got a mission already lined up. Maybe you can show off there. I’d _love_ to see what you’ve got.”

“That so?” Qrow peered over at Clover, angling his head up slightly. He wasn’t that much shorter than the brunet, but the man had drawn himself up to his full height. “I’ll give you one free shot.”

“Don’t need it,” Clover said with a grin. “I’m sure I’ll get a chance to see you in action soon. How’s two nights from now sound? Simple heist job. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two, really.”

For a mafia high-roller, Clover was weirdly straitlaced. Qrow was weary of straitlaced mob men. 

“I’ll check my calendar.” 

“Got a hot date?”

“No.” It was blunt, but Qrow had no interest in playing whatever game the man was up to. He was shit at games. 

“Now you do.” Clover grinned. “Pick you up at eight. Wear a suit.” 

“A suit? The hell kinda heist you pulling, Clover?”

“It’s an art auction.”

“Didn’t take you for the artsy type.”

“C’mon, we just met. There’s lots of things you don’t know about me yet.”

Qrow exhaled through his nose. “Fine. Eight o’clock. Meet here?”

“Nah. I’ll text you the address.”

“Don’t have your contact.”

“If you wanted it that badly, you could have just asked.”

Marrow laughed behind a hand. Vine, unmoved as ever, allowed the merest flicker of mirth to touch his eyes. Something about him gave Qrow a strange feeling, like ivy growing up his body. 

Regardless, neither of them were of much interest. The smirking asshole, however, was. 

“Just give me the contact info, asshole.” 

Clover snorted, pulling his Scroll from the pocket of his pants. His pants were almost as tight as Qrow’s—maybe tighter. He forced himself to focus on the objective. 

With a deft hand, Qrow snatched the Scroll, pressing a button to pull up a contacts page. A few taps of his finger later, Qrow shoved the device back at Clover, along with his own.

Clover took the Scroll with a grin, tapping a few buttons. He chuckled to himself. 

Qrow narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

Just as he was about to ask what Clover was up to, however, Marrow spoke again, still slightly red, “What do you even do, Jonah? Since you don’t have a semblance.”

“Same thing the rest of you twits do, pipsqueak.” That nickname was usually reserved for Oscar, Ozpin’s quiet protege, but he would make a special exception. Marrow carried himself like someone who was competent, but until Qrow saw it for himself, he wouldn’t believe a word of it. 

Marrow narrowed his eyes. “I _meant_ against an opponent with a semblance.”

“Semblances don’t make you invincible, kid. Everything bleeds when you stab it enough times. If it draws breath, it can die. Besides, idiots with too much confidence in their semblance are easy pickings.”

Finally, Clover handed him the Scroll. Qrow clicked to the contacts page, only to see a picture of Clover—clearly _just_ taken—alongside his name with a winking face. The rest of the page was filled with fake contacts, some of whom even had profile pictures to complete the illusion. 

“Did you—did you just take this?” 

“Yes,” Clover said simply. The brunet blinked, and suddenly the goofy charm evaporated. He pressed a finger to his ear. 

“This is Alpha.”

Qrow strained to hear what was being said over the comms device, but all he heard was muffled speech. Vine and Marrow had dropped back, too. 

Instead, he busied himself with adjusting his garments, slipping the Scroll back into the folds of his pants. Tonight, he’d go see Glynda and Ozpin to give his report—and tell them about this heist business. He called the shots on infiltration missions, but they should still be in the know. 

Mostly because Glynda tended to pitch a fit when Qrow decided to loop them out. Ozpin took it in stride, though there was usually some amount of private chastising. 

Clover’s gaze swiveled towards Qrow, and he managed an almost-sheepish smile. “We’ve got business to attend to.” 

“Mmh. See ya.”

“We’ll be in touch. Still gotta prove yourself if you really wanna join Atlas.”

“I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

Clover winked and disappeared into the shadows, flanked by the two agents. 

Qrow stared out at the sea before him as they padded off, tapping his fingertips idly on his thigh. The waves lapped at the metallic surface of the docks, their surface lit only by effulgent green lights streaming from a nearby street. 

He exhaled a long breath, watching as vapor curled out of his lips. His fingertips itched for a glass, but he’d been clean for a month now. No time to fall back into other habits just because he was on the job again. Glynda would kill him if Ozpin and Taiyang didn’t. 

Speaking of Glynda and Oz, it was probably best that he reported back to them soon. 

“Jonah, huh?” 

Gods, he knew that voice. She wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Ruby,” he began, already feeling his voice go stern. “You shouldn’t be here. Not only could you blow this whole op, you could get yourself killed.” 

The girl’s silver eyes flickered with something like contempt. “I’m not a child, Qrow.”

“You’re seventeen.”

“Old enough to make my own decisions.”

“Not about this, kiddo. Does Taiyang know you’re here?”

Ruby frowned. “Obviously not.” 

That name would be dangerous, around here, but Qrow was relatively sure there weren’t any eyes on them. Most people wouldn’t remember Taiyang, but those that did would inevitably remember Summer, and then, if he was really unlucky, they’d remember Raven, too. Qrow had always operated with some amount of subtlety, but it didn’t take a genius to connect him to Raven. 

“Look, kiddo, you can’t be here. Go home. I won’t tell Tai where you were.”

“Let me help you.”

Qrow had always known one of his nieces would get too involved in their line of work. It held answers. 

Answers they didn’t want, of course, but answers.

“No.” There was no use beating around the bush: he would never let Ruby help him on _any_ of these missions, let alone this one. Atlas did not have a reputation for mercy, and he only had one shot. 

“Oh, come _on_! I’m seventeen years old. I’m a better fighter than half of the others. Let me in.”

Her eyes looked so much like Summer’s that he felt physically ill. _She_ looked so much like Summer. 

Raven had been the reason for their splintering, but somehow, Qrow had always figured he was the liability on the team. He could outmatch almost any of them in a fight—Summer might have the edge, depending, and Raven was tricky—but his semblance had made things...difficult. 

Ruby stared at him with those eyes, those Summer-like eyes, and a silent plea seemed to claw at him within the argentate depths. But he couldn’t do it. Ruby would be competent, he knew that, but even he had suffered more than a few crippling injuries in this line of work. 

And besides, she’d bring her other friends, too. They’d fashioned into a team, like STRQ had been, all those years ago, and had set about...busting criminals, ostensibly. That was how STRQ had started, too.

Sometimes, however, you had to get more dirty than you’d like to enact any sort of change. Ruby didn’t understand that yet. None of them did—not even the dark-haired one, Blake. 

They would, he was sure. Ozpin had shown him that truth, along with myriad others. But they didn’t have to lose their innocence yet. Ozpin disliked violence, but that didn’t stop him from employing it. That was why Qrow was still around, after all—there was no point to a blade without a hand to guide it. 

“Tell you what,” Qrow began, “I’ll cut you a deal. You can’t help me with this mission, but I’ll take you with me to see my...good friend.”

Ruby frowned. “That’s a terrible deal.”

“Maybe. But it’s the only one you’re gonna get.” 

The girl stopped, deliberating. Qrow was starting to get twitchy—they needed to be gone, and soon. Atlas didn’t have a claim to these docks, but their grunts patrolled here more than any of the other organizations combined. Once, they’d contended with Beacon for that title: after all, whoever controlled the docks controlled the underworld, for the most part, but Ozpin’s mafia had fallen far from grace. 

Now, they were more a small collective than the organized ring they’d been in years past. Beacon had had a reputation as one of the few mafias that operated more akin to a vigilante group—they participated in their fair share of crime, of course, but there was less senseless violence. Atlas operated like paramilitary: rigid, structured, and precise. Ironwood didn’t enjoy senseless violence any more than Ozpin did, but he also saw the value in controlled chaos. 

“Fine.” 

Qrow grinned. “That’s my girl. C’mon.” He cast a glance, two, over his shoulder, taking stock. Nothing stirred, but that hardly meant anything. Gods, Taiyang would kill them if he knew where he was taking Ruby. 

Actually, he’d just kill Qrow. Ruby was old enough to make her own decisions, but it wasn’t like Qrow was supposed to endorse them. 

  
Then again, how else could she find out the truths she wanted? Her mother had been a vigilante, a hero, right until the bitter end. That was more than could be said of the rest of them. Qrow wondered what Ruby would think of her adoptive uncle, when the time came that she found what she was searching for. Ends never justified the means for idealists like Ruby and Summer. 

Qrow flexed his fingertips. That particular predicament could come later—and it would, of course. For now, he just had to make sure Ruby stayed alive. And Yang. Raven would kill him if Yang died. 

Not that _she_ was helping in that regard. Why was everything his responsibility, anyways? Qrow ran a hand through his hair, peering over at Ruby. 

“Let’s get out of here, kiddo. The bike’s out front.” He paused. “How’d you even get here, anyways?” 

Ruby smiled sheepishly. “Don’t kill me,” she began, accompanied by a groan from Qrow, “but Yang drove me here.”

Qrow massaged his temples. “Oz is going to kill me,” he murmured, “unless Tai does it first.” Ruby was kind enough to look slightly apologetic. 

“Get back to your sister. I’ll meet you there.” 

“You don’t even know where we parked!”

“It’s a bright yellow motorcycle, kid. Not the peak of subtlety.” 

Ruby frowned slightly, pulling the crimson silk of her cloak closer. He’d been closer to Summer than any of the others on the team—she’d found the good in him, and even in Raven—and it still ached, sometimes, the similarities between Ruby and her mother. He couldn’t even imagine how Tai felt. 

Yang, too, held some similarities with Raven, but she was a better, kinder version of his sister. Raven was capricious and cold; Yang was compassionate and warm. Both of them, however, believed any problem could be bested with enough strength. 

“Uncle Qrow? Are you alright?” 

He shook his head, forcing himself back to the present. Soberness had given him a clarity that he’d long since lost, but it had also made him a bit more prone towards these melancholic reflections. He supposed it was better than his borderline choleric temperament of the years prior, but neither were overly convenient. Nothing ever was, with Qrow. 

“I’m fine, kid. Go find your sister.” Ruby nodded, casting a suspicious glance over at Qrow. He waved her off with a hand, swiping it through the air. She padded off, her stride barely restrained as she walked into the night. 

The broken moon hung above the docks, casting its pallid half-light down, rays mixing and weaving with the neon lights of the streets beside the docks. Now that he was alone with his thoughts, there did seem to be a great deal of them. 

More than a few of them revolved around the smirking brunet. Something had felt...off, with his Aura, when Clover was near. Not in a bad way—it felt almost like a burden had been lifted off his shoulders, strangely enough. 

That burden was back, however, and it felt heavier, now that he had felt its absence. Was it his semblance? Possibly, but there was no reason Clover could have impacted his semblance in any way. Unless that _was_ Clover’s semblance—maybe he nullified other peoples’. That would explain the lack of intel, at any rate. 

Somewhere deep in the folds of his coat, a second Scroll vibrated against his chest. That was the private Scroll, evidently, one that had only two contacts saved into it. 

Qrow reached into his coat, fingertips wrapping around the Scroll. He peered at the incoming message. 

It held only one word, wreathed by titian light. 

_ETA._

The message came from a number saved only as Professor—Ozpin’s callsign, back in the days when he’d worked in the field. Qrow’s fingertips typed a reply quickly, eyes constantly darting around, ensuring he wasn’t being watched. 

_Fifteen. Bringing the girls._

There was no reply. There never was. He slipped the Scroll into his coat and straightened himself, prowling back towards the spot he’d stashed his bike in. It was a throwaway vehicle, nothing compared to his usual method of transportation, but he still didn’t want to have to replace it. 

A few moments later, he turned into the shadowy alley. His bike was still there, thankfully, its matte black surface absorbing the effulgent club lights behind Qrow. He’d wasn’t one for clubbing, really, but in his youth he’d enjoyed it. 

He’d enjoyed a lot of things in his youth. 

Qrow pulled the motorcycle from its hiding spot with relative ease, clamoring on top of it. He didn’t have a helmet—disguises and masks attracted only the wrong kind of attention, especially in this district. Ironwood kept a tight grip on the districts under his control, and he was traditionally...unwelcoming, to say the least, when rival organizations had agents in the area. Beacon was defunct, as far as anyone knew, but if Ironwood knew of his former connections, Qrow would have much worse done to him than the typical infiltrator. 

This whole operation was a gamble, and while Qrow had never been much for games of chance, he’d long since learned that playing fair was for the dead. 

And the heroic, but death and heroism went hand-in-hand. Briefly, he thought of Ruby, and Yang, and—strangely—Clover. 

With a soft purr, his bike glided out from the alleyway. Once upon a time, he’d have ridden something far more ostentatious, but the circumstances called for a bit more tact. Qrow took off in the direction of the dock’s central parking lot—he loved Yang, but she wasn’t one for indirect approaches. 

It was all he could do not to laugh when he saw Yang’s motorcycle in the center of the parking lot, bright yellow practically painting a giant target on her back. She should be glad Atlas seemed to be preoccupied tonight. 

Or maybe that was a ruse. He’d find out soon enough, he supposed. 

“Uncle!” Yang turned to grin wickedly at Qrow, mischief lighting her gaze. Qrow returned the grin in kind, stalking towards the girls. He tucked his hands into his pockets, casting a few glances towards the horizon.

The roofs of the dock were empty, at present, but the night would not hold its illusions for much longer. They needed to be gone before Atlas personnel started returning—particularly before Ironwood’s so-called Ace Operatives returned. And Clover. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Qrow said, though the grin remained on his face. He couldn’t be too angry: it was exactly the kind of stunt STRQ used to pull, back in the day. Before all of this. 

He ran a hand through his hair, just as Yang replied, “What, don’t trust us? Come on, old man.” 

“Hey! I am not that old.” 

Qrow had begun looking a little more his age, now that he’d given up the drink. It had aged him more than he had ever realized. There were still sprinkles of grey in his hair, of course, but the perpetual hauntedness in his eyes had receded, as had the dark shadows underneath them. Both were still there, but they were lesser, different. 

Melancholia still followed Qrow, however. It always would. 

“Yeah, yeah. Alright. Ruby says you chickened out of letting us help you.”

He huffed out a breath. “You’re not as invincible as your youth would lead you to believe, kiddo. Just be thankful I didn’t have you both tossed out unceremoniously.” 

Yang’s eyes grew even more mischievous, and she grinned like a fox. “I’d like to see you try.” 

He’d always wished he had been there more in the girls’ youth, but Qrow never trusted his semblance to stay in check for long enough. 

And there had been the...other, problems. 

_“You can’t stay here if you’re going to drink yourself into a stupor every two hours, Qrow.”_

Qrow cleared his throat. Old demons were best left in their graves. 

“Settle down, kid. We’re not dueling in the middle of the docks. Wouldn’t wanna humiliate you yet. Get on your motorcycle. We’ve gotta get going.” 

Yang huffed out a breath, flexing her fingertips. She and Raven had enough similar mannerisms to make Qrow’s skin itch, but Yang was a far cry from the dark flame of her mother. No, Yang would be a powerhouse, but she wouldn’t be like any of the rest of STRQ. Taiyang was too calm to be anything like her, Raven was too brutal, Qrow was too bitter, and Summer was too forgiving. 

Still, both Yang and Ruby begrudgingly climbed on top of their motorcycles. The air was growing thick in his lungs, and Qrow would prefer to leave the docks before they all choked on it. 

His motorcycle purred to life under his touch, crawling out of the parking lot. His head ducked this way and that, analyzing the scene. There were six parked cars—how many of those cars had watchers in them, trained directly onto him? How many of them would notice Ruby, notice Yang, and start wondering who those kids were? 

How long before this particular charade ended with a blade in his back? He’d been infiltrating enemy organizations for years now, but never one of Atlas’s scale. Never like this. Takedowns from the inside were easy—particularly when he was still willing to shell himself out to charm the higher-ups. But surveillance, namely surveillance of a group like Atlas, was dangerous. There were so many variables. 

Qrow shook his head. Bad luck was one thing, conspiracies were another. He couldn’t risk becoming paranoid. 

“Let’s go, then.” 

Their motorcycles sped out of the parking lot with as much subtlety as could be hoped for with Yang’s bright yellow motorcycle—if she’d inherited anything from Taiyang, it was a clear lack of talent for subterfuge—and soon found themselves on the back roads of the Mantle district, one of several districts under Atlas’s control. There was some semblance of government in Vale, but almost every government official rose to power only with a nod from one of Vale’s heavy-hitting mafia groups. Ironwood had the most officials in his pocket—particularly military ones, given his former affiliation with Vale military. 

The side streets were something like a safehaven, however. The only people patrolling those streets were the drifters and sorrowful souls, searching for refuge from Atlas or for their next meal. Still, Qrow exercised as much caution as he had on the docks—desperate men did horrible things for a scrap or two, especially in Mantle. 

A few more moments in the squalor of the alleyways, however, took them to the nondescript warehouse that was now, for better or for worse, serving as the headquarters of Beacon. 

Or what was left of it, anyways. Ozpin’s empire had somewhat decayed, but the old man hardly seemed to care. He always had an angle to work. 

Qrow stashed his motorcycle in a nondescript corner. Yang’s was a different beast, however, and he motioned towards a nearby alleyway. It wasn’t the most secure area to hide it, but nobody would be stupid enough—he hoped—to try and steal a motorcycle here. Beacon had no boots on the ground, anymore, but some legends ran deep. 

“You two, stay quiet until we get inside.” 

They both nodded, looking slightly awed by the sights around them. If only they’d seen the headquarters before. 

Qrow knocked at the metal door three times, then twice, then three times again. 

Seconds passed, a heavy pause hanging in the air. 

Finally, a voice, crisp and refined, passed through the door. 

“Announce yourself.”

“”s me, Glynny.” 

The door opened to reveal Glynda Goodwitch, Ozpin’s right hand, staring daggers at Qrow. He grinned wickedly. 

“I told you not to call me that,” Glynda said smoothly, her voice chilly enough to freeze the sun in flight. Her eyes, however, betrayed the small modicum of warmth that she reserved for friends, and she allowed Qrow a small smile. “Get inside.”

Qrow just grinned again, though he added a tinge of self-deprecation, if only so that she didn’t eviscerate him. Yang and Ruby fell in behind them, both of them receiving Glynda’s scrutinizing gaze. She was familiar with them—she had, ironically, been forced to babysit Yang once when Taiyang had been out of town and Qrow had been on mission, and she knew Ruby from Qrow—but a layer of caution still hung around her. Glynda had never been one to take chances, but she was as hospitable as could be hoped for in this line of work. 

“Glynda,” Qrow began, using her real name. Better to start on good footing. “This is Yang. I think you two have met.” Yang offered up a smile bereft of most of her usual aplomb, dipping her head. 

Glynda nodded, smiling ruefully. “We have. I knew your father, as well.” _And your mother,_ she might have added, but Glynda knew well the histories there. 

“And this is Ruby.” Qrow motioned towards his adoptive niece, and Glynda blinked as she looked upon her, clearly seeing the same thing Qrow saw every other time he looked at Ruby. 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ruby. I’ve heard a great deal of your exploits—though I might caution you that it is fool’s work to go after Roman’s group at such a young age.” Ruby blinked, and Yang looked like she was caught between bristling and wondering how Glynda knew about their attempts at apprehending Roman. Qrow had only found out a few days ago, but Glynda and Ozpin seemed to have been keeping tabs on Yang and Ruby—along with their other friends, Weiss and Blake—for quite some time. 

Before either of them could reply, Glynda motioned for all three of them to follow her up te metallic staircase. Qrow canted his gaze around the warehouse, fingers twitching at his side. 

This was, perhaps, the safest place in Vale, but even that offered no security to Qrow. 

The only sound as they ascended the stairs was Glynda’s heels falling against the metal, followed in short order by Yang’s heavy footfalls. Definitely Taiyang’s daughter. 

Almost before they reached the top, their host turned around, black spectacles precariously perched on his nose. 

Ozpin had long since mastered the art of looking slightly messed while remaining the essence of professionalism. Such held true now, with his grey hair sprouting unceremoniously in a cowlick on the side, glasses ever so slightly off-center. He leaned on a cane, though he hardly needed it to get around. 

Qrow’s fingertips itched for Harbinger, his scythe, but the need for subtlety had meant giving up anything that might have marked him more than necessary. Very little footage of Beacon’s agents existed—Glynda had personally seen to that—but it was well-documented that they had been outfitted with the best weaponry in Vale. Harbinger was testament to that. 

“It’s marvelous to see you two again,” Ozpin began, smiling broadly. He gesticulated slightly, motioning for them to come closer. The only lighting in the upper room of the warehouse came from the six monitors set up, three along each wall, casting a phantasmagoric jade light throughout the entire room. It made Ozpin look as though he were flanked by his Aura, which bore a similar jade coloration, but Qrow knew Ozpin never activated it without it being absolutely necessary.

  
Ozpin seemed comfortable with the lack of light. Glynda, on the other hand, frowned at the darkness, procuring a thin wand from her boot. The wand doubled as a gun, Qrow knew, but it also served to heighten Glynda’s ethereal aesthetic. She made a few arcane gestures with it, and suddenly, the lights above them flickered on. 

“Do we...know you?” Ruby’s voice was soft as she asked, blinking. 

Ozpin smiled slightly. 

“Ah, not in precise terms, I suppose. When you were children. Your father and I were close compatriots. As were your mothers, of course.” Both the girls stiffened at that—Ruby looked sad, Yang looked...angry. 

His heart had always ached a bit more for Yang, truth be told. Perhaps it was their shared connection to Raven, but at least Ruby got the comfort of knowing her mother had been a pinnacle of justice to her dying breath. Yang had no such comforts—Raven was a monster, no matter what she had been. 

An awkward silence hung in the air, one that Qrow filled moments later. 

“Ruby and Yang want to...help,” Qrow said, voice strained. Glynda’s eyebrows lifted—Ozpin remained impassive. He had never cared much about age, so long as someone was competent. Glynda had many reservations. 

Before Ozpin could speak, however, Qrow barreled on, “I had just the job in mind, actually. They can handle monitoring Amity Colosseum. We’ve seen an uptick in Atlas activity there.” It was as low-threat as they were going to get—there was nobody near Amity Colosseum, aside from a few grunts who got ballsy. It would hold the girls’ attention, hopefully.

Ozpin fixed Qrow with a strange look, analyzing him. Glynda nodded almost approvingly.

“An excellent idea,” Ozpin finally said. “I’ll brief you and your friends on the...assignment, tomorrow.” Ruby looked hopeful—Yang, on the other hand, knew exactly what Amity Colosseum meant, and stared at Qrow with no small amount of ire.

He shrugged. 

“Until then, however, do give us the floor, ladies. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

They recognized a dismissal when they heard it, at least, and padded off. Yang elbowed him on her way out, but that was to be expected. 

By the time they had made it out of the metal doors, Glynda looked as annoyed with Qrow as ever—which was to say extremely. 

“You can’t keep putting children in danger, Qrow. Yang is nineteen, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready for...this. Neither is Ruby. We can’t just-”

Ozpin held up a hand. Glynda stopped, but the lift of her eyebrow made it clear she was offering Ozpin a stay of execution, not obeying his commands. 

“The girls are competent. I’m not sending them to Amity Colosseum.”

Now it was Qrow’s turn to rage. “Oz, if you think for one second I’m gonna let you-”

“That is _enough,_ Qrow. I am not sending the girls to Amity Colosseum. Ruby is seventeen. The other three are nineteen. If they desire to be vigilantes, they might as well have some backing.”

“We’re not vigilantes anymore, Oz. Did you forget that our heroism has a body count?” 

“That doesn’t mean they have to be introduced to the evils of the underworld the same way you were, Qrow. I’ll be assigning them to some low-threat areas to pull attention off of any subterfuge you might pull. Ironwood will be far more interested in four unknown factors than one too-curious peon.”

Qrow bristled. “I’m not a peon.”

“You are to him. You’re disposable until you make yourself useful—and you should take care not to be _too_ useful. James can be rather...possessive. You remember the dance, Qrow.”

He did. Every step was muscle memory, now. But there were always variables. 

_Like Clover._

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. If you get those girls killed, Ozpin, I’ll kill you if Tai doesn’t do it first.”

“They’re not children, Qrow.”

“Ruby’s not even an adult!”

“And how old were you, Qrow, when you started in their line of work?”

He fixed Ozpin with a dead stare. “That was different,” Qrow hissed, “and you know it. Raven and I took a different path. They shouldn’t have to follow our damned legacy.”

Ozpin steepled his fingers, sliding into his seat. “They’re not following your legacy. If you take anything from this, let it at least be faith that your nieces are going to do the right thing, the right way. It will not be like Beacon.”

“Fine. You win.” 

Ozpin smiled sadly. “It was never a contest, Qrow. If they don’t want the fieldwork, they don’t have to take it. But they deserve the choice.”

He was right, much as Qrow was wont to admit it. Yang, Ruby, Weiss, Blake...they deserved more respect than they’d been given. Raven and Qrow had been fourteen when they got involved with the first soft whispers of Beacon—Taiyang and Summer had been sixteen. The girls were as ready as they’d ever be. 

“But this isn’t about them. They’ll have their own escapades, I’m sure, but Glynda and I want to hear about _yours_.” 

“I met up with three of Ironwood’s Ace Operatives. Vine and Marrow are known variables, but I still don’t have much of a read on Clover.” Aside from the strange, semblance-like sensation. “His semblance is an unknown, too."

Glynda frowned. “Did he seem receptive?”

Qrow chuckled wryly. “Yeah, we’re best pals.” Glynda stared at him with a deadpan gaze. “Alright, alright. Yeah, he was nice. We’re working a mission two nights from now.”

“Where?”

“Didn’t get a location. I know it’s an auction—probably in the Dust district, given Ironwood’s particular tastes.”

Ozpin frowned. “I cannot imagine James has any interest in most things sold at auction, nor is Atlas hurting for cash. It must be something big. Have any of your contacts mentioned anything?”

Qrow shook his head. His underworld contacts had been remarkably silent lately. Too silent.

“Nope. Starting to think something is up. Atlas took over the Mantle district in full, and now everything’s...strained. Might have to get some new contacts, at this rate.” Gods, he _hated_ rebuilding his contacts. Last time he’d done it had been a few years ago, after Beacon’s last death throes had sounded.

“Do _try_ to stay out of too much trouble, old bird. I have no desire—nor overmuch influence—to bail you out of a sticky situation, and I doubt Ironwood will spare resources on new blood without a semblance. Especially if you get caught.”

“I know, Oz. Don’t worry about me. I work best solo. If Clover gets in the way, I’ll cover my own ass.”

Ozpin nodded, suddenly burying himself in his Scroll. The man was constantly multitasking, even when Beacon had less and little going for it. Glynda peered over at Qrow, offering her own words of encouragement.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Thanks, Glyn. Can always count on you for a good shoulder to cry on.” 

Glynda huffed, waving him off. 

Moments later, Qrow slipped out of the warehouse. The cold night air filled his lungs nearly to the brim, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. In his coat pocket, a Scroll—the Atlas one—chimed pleasantly. He didn’t remember putting ringtones on it.

[01:46 VT]: Clover Ebi ;) - _Here’s that address you were dying for._

[01:46 VT]: Clover Ebi ;) - _1874 Schnee Avenue_

[01:47 VT]: Clover Ebi ;) - _See you soon. Lucky you!_

[01:48 VT]: Jonah Egreyn - _Thanks_

[01:48 VT]: Clover Ebi ;) - _Anytime! ;)_

Qrow exhaled a breath of cold air. Gods, the man was insufferable. 

With a single glance back at the warehouse, Qrow Branwen disappeared into the night.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! If you want to connect on social media, my Tumblr is @manaflush and my Twitter is @galardevoir. I post updates on all works there!


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